


Growing Up Khan

by paintpaw



Series: Sunset Sasha [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen, Great Khans - Freeform, Headcanon, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26687809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintpaw/pseuds/paintpaw
Summary: "But it wasn't always families who found Vegas. Raiders found it too--like they always did.They’d carved the city up between them, warring at pretend borders that seemed to shift every other day. In the nineteen years Manny had been alive, he’d lost count of the number raider gangs that’d held the portion of Vegas he called home."Manny Vargas grew up in Vegas. Sasha grew up a Khan. When the Khans come to Vegas, they soon find out they're not so different at all.Pre Fallout New Vegas canon. Set between 2267 and 2274. I'm fascinated by the Great Khans and their lore, and the tiny tibbits we get about them ruling Vegas 14 years prior to the games canon inspired me.
Relationships: Manny Vargas/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Sunset Sasha [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813387
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Growing Up Khan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seren0n](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seren0n/gifts).



> Hi hello I'm trying something out here though I'm historically bad at writing anything but oneshots I DO actually have a plan for this one, 10 chapters detailing the rise and fall of the Great Khans ruling Vegas, centred around two slightly star-crossed young men. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!!

Vegas was a beacon in the sand. Maybe it always was, maybe it had always drawn people in. 

Manny Vargas had seen the old posters, inside buildings where the sun couldn’t bleach their inks away to nothing. All the lights and colours, people everywhere. Fancy suits and dresses. In some respects, things never change. The lights don’t shine anymore, and no one wears dresses or suits. But the buildings were still there--and so were the people.

There were always people.

The Vargas family had arrived years ago. Manny was born in Vegas. So were his parents. So were their parents. But if you went far enough back, you’d find the generation his great-great-too-many-greats-grandmother was a part of. She said that the long walk from the city of Caborca far south to here had caused her nose and ears to fall off and cursed her with eternal life. But she later whispered to the younger children in her scratchy voice to tell them that perhaps it had been because she never heeded her mother’s advice not to play in pools that glowed at night.

The same thing drew her and Manny’s other ancestors in like it did everyone else. A siren song. The lure of safety. Of paradise.

The untouched city.

No skeletons, no radiation. 

Some locals even had ancestors who were tourists here--back before the bombs--who’d watched the world fall apart around them. They’d clung to the only place that somehow avoided it all, no idea how or why they'd been spared. To them, it had been a sign.

But it wasn't always families who found Vegas. Raiders found it too--like they always did.

They’d carved the city up between them, warring at pretend borders that seemed to shift every other day. In the nineteen years Manny had been alive, he’d lost count of the number raider gangs that’d held the portion of Vegas he called home.

The latest group to lay claim to Northern Vegas--the Barbed--had lasted two months so far. They’d followed their victory over the last gang by stringing up their corpses from lampposts. That was a warning. To the other gangs and to the locals.

At least some families could hold their own. Manny’s family--the Vargas’--was large enough and skilled enough to keep the building they’d claimed generations ago.

But once in a while, he’d hear about another family that pissed off the raiders once too many. Manny was told to keep his nose clean.

Not even the Followers of the Apocalypse had been spared. The goodwill group that had been attempting to find ground in the city for years now found themselves chased back into the wastes. Once again back where they started. Once again, Manny and his cousins would need to escort their grandmother--the one who wasn’t a ghoul--further from Vegas the next time she had a fall. 

Manny watched the streets from high above, in his little nook that none of his cousins were slim enough to climb into. From there he could take potshots at the Barbed and other raiders with the hunting rifle whose scope he’d saved up all his money for. The money of vegas being the strange colourful disks unearthed from within the long-dead buildings. Casino chips.

He’d never dare kill a raider, he knew better than to incur their wrath upon his family. But he could break windows and spook them. Duck away when one peered up into the sky and wondered if the hot sun could shatter a window or if a god was really trying to smite them down. 

From up here they just looked like flesh-coloured ants, too hot for any real armour, pissing up buildings and demanding just about anything off anyone who dared set foot in the streets.

But today, there were new players on the field.

Eight people, all wearing black leather, darker than the tarmac they stood on. Each one with bright strokes of colour. Yellows, reds, blues, greens. Manny didn’t even need to scope to see just how vibrant they were. The designs varied but their backs matched. Peering through the scope, Manny recognised the outfits.

For the past week, people in those outfits had been spotted all around the outskirts of Vegas. A loner surveying the city from afar for a few hours before disappearing. A pair sprinting through the streets at night. A trio chatting up some locals. But Manny had never seen so many in one place before.

And he wasn’t the only person to notice them.

One of the Barbed hollered at them, whatever was said was too distorted by echos to understand by the time it reached Manny’s ears. He raised his rifle but kept his finger far from the trigger--trying to get a better view. The raider was making some rude gestures at the group in leathers, undeterred by their numbers.

Their leader, a vaguely feminine voice, shouted something back.

More Barbed started to gather as laughter echoed up the building. Manny could only assume that they were laughing at a threat from a woman. It’d be like them. They’d snatched pretty women off the streets before now.

It was only now through his scope, did Manny notice that there was something different about the group in black. They weren’t exactly like those he’d seen before. Those had been lightly dressed, still in leather but in gear clearly mindful of speed. Loose jeans taped down, light shoes and gloves. But these eight--they were dressed for something else. All horned helmets, dark glasses and bandanas. 

These eight were dressed for war. 

Manny was so enamoured by the group that he missed who shot first, but soon enough the entire block was filled with the sound of gunfire. It drew raiders out of the buildings and streets like maggots out a wound. Five, ten, twenty, twenty-five. The man who started it all slumped backwards in a splatter as the leather-clad leader blew a chunk out of his shoulder with a shotgun.

It was hard enough to keep up with the action, but Manny’s heart sank as he watched the eight leathers begin their retreat even after painting the road with six of the Barbed already. He whispered to himself--to them. _Come on. You can do it._

He pulled away from his scope to see if he could guess where they would run to and saw almost immediately. Another group of eight, hidden to all on the ground but in plain sight to Manny alone. 

The first eight ran past them and banked in the opposite direction. The Barbed were too focused on taunting their would-be victims to notice the new group that charged in from behind. They didn’t stand a chance, even before the first group turned around and cashed in their bluff.

Manny let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The echo of the last gun fired--some rattling semi-automatic--bounced off the walls and down the streets, then faded into nothing. The group of two eights, now sixteen, gathered together checked each other over for wounds.

From where Manny was perched, they seemed no worse for wear. He watched one slip out of their jacket to let their friends inspect their back. One of them reached out to jab the area in question, and the first howled and jumped away. The rest of the group laughed and from high in his perch, Manny laughed with them.

Movement caught his eye.

Manny peered down into the street, back to where the carnage began. One of the Barbed, the first to go down, had dragged himself upright. With one dead arm, he fumbles with something on the ground. Manny cranes his neck even though he knows it won’t help his angle.

It’s not until the raider managed to stagger to his feet and raise his hand above his head does it become clear that he’s wielding a molotov. He’d been fumbling with a lighter.

Manny looked back to the group.

They hadn’t noticed.

Manny looked back to the raider as he staggers around. There’s a good chance he won’t even be able to throw hard enough to hit the group with how much blood he’s lost. Manny watched him through his scope.

The raider swayed like a pitcher about to throw a fastball and Manny didn’t even think as his finger found the trigger and squeezed. The crack of his rifle sounded and not even a second later the body of the Barbed hit the floor. The glass bottle of alcohol in his hand doesn’t even shatter.

He surprised himself so much that he didn’t even think to duck back into the crumbling building. 

Manny had been mistaken, someone in the group had been watching the raider. 

The leathers all peered up into the sky just the same as all the other raiders had, this time he was spotted. One of them pointed, a few raised their weapons. Manny panicked. He did the only thing he could think to do.

He waved.

There was a second of nothing but his own heart beating in his ears. 

Then a cheer erupted from the streets.

All sixteen waved back.

Possessed by a bolstered ego, Manny squeezed through the broken up wall between the ruined building and his perch and scampered down the staircase as fast as his lean ropey body could carry him. But by the time he reached the base of the building, the group had already moved on. He thought about calling to them--or running to catch up. But he didn’t. Instead, his eyes trail to the body of the Barbed.

It wasn’t the cleanest shot, but with such high calibre bullets, it hardly mattered. Cut through his neck and shoulder rather than his head. Manny blamed the angle. Didn’t matter either way, even if he didn't die when the bullet ripped through him--he was dead now. 

And so were all his buddies, at least in the area. That meant no one would come to bring hell on the Vargas house. All thanks to those black leathers.

And Manny, of course.

Manny wavered for only a moment longer, then turned tail and ran to his family’s home to tell his mother what was happening.

It was only hours before the locals caught on as well, the group of sixteen was not the only one in North Vegas. It didn’t take long after that to find what banner the black leathers banded behind.

They were the Great Khans. So said their jackets.

The raiders of Vegas, especially the Barbed, lacked the organisation to comprehend that they were being invaded. Word spread faster within the local’s and their underground networks. People whispered to each other in the sewers under Vegas that if you left the Khans alone, they would leave you alone.

But what was most curious and also most important was that the Khans were freeing slaves. At least, that was the rumour.

The truth, as Manny saw it, was that the Khans had the decency to realise that the people in rags and cages were of no threat to them. They’d sweep buildings and strongholds, killing or driving out Barbed. Sometimes slaves got out on their own, some claimed one of the Khans tossed them a key before dashing out the building. Some were ignored entirely--but at least they were spared.

Intentional or not, locals started to trail behind those black leather jackets as they wiped away the Barbed from the area. Dashing into areas after the Khans were done with them to free loved ones, still wide-eyed with the shock of what they’d just seen.

Manny followed the Khans too, but not for those reasons. His other cousins--the older bigger ones--could take that job. Instead, Manny followed for the carnage. He was nimble enough to climb one roof and leap from building to building so he could always stay on top of the action. Always with his rifle in his hands. 

Some Khans paid attention to him. Some asked if he could make a shot. He almost always did.

The deeper in North Vegas the Khans pushed, the more varying their warriors became. Manny spotted a woman carrying a scoped hunting rifle that almost matched his--except the wooden stock of hers was painted as bright as her jacket. She opened her palm to him in acknowledgement and Manny did the same. 

He’d only counted two Khans ever going down. And from what he could see--neither died.

The first took a shotgun blast to the head. Her helmet took the brunt of the damage, but the pellets still hit their mark, tearing through her bandana. She hit the ground hard and started convulsing, another woman screamed in rage and anguish and lept at the raider while her comrades gathered protectively around their fallen. 

They took shelter in a local’s home for a short while before a pair escorted the woman out of the city. Back home, Manny guessed.

The second jumped out an upper story building moments escaping an explosion and didn’t quite roll well enough. There was a crunch when he hit the ground, and he cried out. The Khans guarding the door came to his aid immediately, offering their stimpaks and other chems. The Khan with likely a broken shoulder instated he could press on, and he foolishly did, despite the worry of the others.

Soon enough, the Khan’s true leader made his presence known, when the last of the Barbed were being cut down.

Manny only saw him from a distance, during a confrontation with the leader of the Barbed. Their differences were as stark as night and day, just as it had been for the people they led. The Barbed leader was all skin, with barbed wire wrapped around his arms and legs as if he had something to prove. Dried blood clung to his body, and metal armour covered areas erratically to show off his muscles. He wore some shoddy tin crown on his head.

The Khan’s leader was clean--that’s what stood out to Manny most of all. Even if the Khans turned out to be another bunch of raiders just like the last, the idea alone that this man bathed regularly was enough to give Manny and the other locals pause. 

Something was different. 

From the immaculate coyote fur cloak to the leather sheathed sword at his hip, this wasn't just some other gang leader. This was someone--at least to his own mind--important. And judging by the numbers at his command, it wasn't just in his head. 

The Khans all waited politely for the Barbed leader to give his little war speech and scream up into the heavens. He didn’t even make ten paces towards the Khan’s leader before a crack like thunder echoed out and some other sniper hit their mark. The raider’s body skittered across the ground from the running momentum before coming to a halt. 

Manny watched the leader of the Khans close his eyes and bow his head in some sort of reverence--then walking away.

It wasn’t just the Barbed in the sights of the Khans. They pushed on into Vegas proper--where Manny couldn’t follow without the discerning head shaking of his elder cousins. He pouted on a rooftop, watching the Khans through his scope.

In less than two weeks, the disorganised raider force of the city was wiped away, and New Vegas promptly fell under new management.

*

The Great Khans didn’t believe in the end of the world because to them, the world never ended. How could it? They were all still here, after all. That was the question Papa Khan posed to anyone who even casually mentioned the end of the old world. Nobody ever had an answer for him.

For the Khans, life before their ancestors crawled out of their vaults--blinking in the harsh sunlight--did not matter. Few of them would even know to begin with, less cared. To people like them, life had always been fighting over scraps in the baking desert.

But you didn’t need stories passed down through generations to see glimpses of the old world. 

Sasha couldn’t read the frayed magazines or roadside signs but he could get the idea from the pictures alone. Little windows back in time. Frozen. Pale smiling faces who’s eyes Sasha couldn’t meet. 

And the cities--unlike any NCR city he’d ever seen. Buildings that stretched up into the sky and touched the clouds. Papa said the people of the old world toyed with things they did not understand nor respect, putting people into the sky was one of those things.

But Sasha had seen ruins of such cities. He knew if he squinted hard enough at the skeletal remains of those buildings--he can almost see it. How it used to be. 

Even that--what he conjured in his own head--didn’t compare to Vegas.

Sasha was no warrior. He’d stayed behind with their civilians, young, sick and old, helping as they prepared tents and campfires. Even from their distance from the city, Sasha had to crane his neck to look at the tops of some of the buildings, glass panes winking back at him in the sun. As the last of their warriors moved forward to secure Vegas, Sasha found himself included in the half-warriors, expected to guard those less able then himself. 

An honourable job for a yearling Khan like he and his brothers. McMurphy and Jessup suited the role much better than he did, but Sasha didn’t let it bother him.

After all, the locals didn’t seem able to tell the difference. They regarded all of them the same way they regarded the few warriors that were there to meet them. A distant gaze. A mix of wonder, fear and--something else. Something Sasha couldn’t put his finger on. 

Boredom perhaps? Apathy? Sasha couldn’t believe it. But he couldn’t shake the feeling either. Who on earth would get bored of something like this? The city, the invasion.

But it did go to his head--at least a little--as he wandered the streets with one of the boys he was raised alongside, Jessup. They’d developed their own entertainment while guarding the northern borders. Sasha would grin and wave cheerfully at any locals, and the two of them would wait for a reaction. Mostly it was either a polite nod with a tight-lipped smile--or it’d their target would slink back into their home without another glance. Either way, it’d send the pair of them into hysterics.

“Can’t believe these guys are just lettin’ us do this,” Jessup said some time later, when they’d both gotten bored of their game and returned to standing in the shade of a tall building--but avoiding it just enough out of fear of it collapsing on them.

“Who, these guys?” Sasha nodded towards a group of locals that were talking quietly in a doorway. They all froze when Sasha gestured at them, “Dunno, maybe they think we’re saving them.”

Jessup snorted, “Those other guys must have been real punks. Like--Jackal punks.”

“I think the Vipers are worse, y’know, creepier.”

“I’d rather get eaten by a snake than a person.”

“No way, snakes can get you whole,” Sasha wrinkles his nose, “What if you’re still alive in there?”

Jessup looked at him like he’s dense, “Then you get _out_ , don’t you?”

Sasha only shuddered in response and glanced away to distract himself. His eyes drifted back over to the group standing in the doorway. It appeared that they’d come to an agreement of some kind, and the smallest and youngest of them--a teenager of around Sasha and Jessup’s age--muscled through the gathering and out into the street. When Sasha realised he was walking towards the pair of them, he swatted at Jessup’s arm and nodded in his direction.

Jessup squared up almost immediately, puffing out his chest and setting a hand on his semi-automatic. Sasha, meanwhile, did not see this guy as a threat--especially when he notices the local pay attention to Jessup’s stance and raise his hands placatingly.

“Hey man, take it easy. Just wanted to come over and introduce myself.” He says, all calm and collected.

Jessup regarded him for a moment, then looked down at Sasha for help. They were only yearlings, but these locals didn't know that. Besides, a Khan was a Khan. Sasha stepped past his brother and tosses his head upwards.

“Go on then.”

The guy offered Sasha a lopsided grin along with a tilt of his head, “I’m Manny, Vargas family. Heard of us?”

Sasha eyed Manny, not quite sure what he was getting at. Was he trying to be patronising or completely genuine? There was something about his smile though, something Sasha liked. He returned it with his own.

“No,” He answered, and Manny shrugged like it was no big deal, “I’m Sasha, and this is my brother Jessup. We’re of the Great Khans.”

Sasha felt his smile twitch as he mimicked Manny’s body language--the head tilt--and tacked on a: “Heard of _us_?”

Manny laughed, and Sasha hopes he’s laughing with him rather than at him, “I haven’t actually, feel like I should have though. We were all waitin’ on people like you to show up and get rid of the Barbed.”

So Sasha was right, they were waiting to be recused--Or something like that. He glanced up at Jessup as Jessup glanced down at him and they shared a look Sasha knew. Jessup was a bit of an airhead, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d caught on too.

“So who are the _Great_ Khans then?” Manny asked, straightening up, “You know, other than a bunch of handsome guys in leather jackets.”

Even Jessup snorted at that one. He folded his arms, indignant, “We’re better than _that_. You ought to know.”

“Hey hey, I don’t mind being a bunch of handsome guys in leather jackets,” Sasha says and ignores the stare Jessup gives him, instead focusing on Manny, “We’re a group from the West, from a place called California. Heard of _that_?”

Manny nodded, “I know California, the old world state?”

“Yeah, but it’s no good to us anymore.”

“ _Really--_ how’s that?”

Sasha glanced at Jessup, who’s still not quite over the handsome guys comment, then back at Manny.

“There’s this other group--call themselves the NCR. It’s a republic, drove us out.”

Manny hesitated, “Why’d they do that?”

Jessup chose now to snap out of his daze, allowing Sasha to watch Manny as he ranted, “‘Cause their punks, that’s why. They kick out anyone who doesn’t live like them. Half our gang’s made of people who can’t pay their fuckin’ money--then they act all surprised when we take shit from their camps.”

“They’ve never liked us, which is fine--We’ve never liked _them_ ,” Sasha added.

Manny hesitated a second time, glancing between them. Sasha noticed the shift in weight on his feet, leaning backwards just a touch. Ready to run. Sasha knew what was coming next.

“So you’re raiders?” Manny asked.

There’s a second of silence between the three of them until Jessup huffed out a breath. Sasha glanced over in time to see it was a laugh, not a snort of disapproval. 

“Yeah, we are,” Sasha said, recentering on Manny, “What about it?”

“You don’t-- _look_ like raiders,” Manny said, slow and careful, “And you don’t act like them either.”

“What are you trying to say?” Jessup jumped in, “That we’re not tough?”

Manny grinned, “No way, I think you’re tough. Man, I think you’re the coolest guys to ever walk into Vegas. I just think you’re different, I wanna know your angle.” 

“How’d you mean?”

“Get this alright: I’m nineteen, and for as long as I remember these different raiders have been hanging off of Vegas. Sometimes we fight back enough and hold our own but it never lasts. Then you guys show up and take them all out in one go like it’s nothing.”

“Fuck yeah we do,” Jessup snapped his fingers in the air in triumph, as if it were him alone who stormed Vegas, “So you’re saying we’re the toughest raiders in this place?”

“Well yeah, but then I see you guys--and you’re all…” Manny seemed to falter, perhaps losing his train of thought or maybe thinking better of what he was about to say. Jessup glanced from him to Sasha as the silence stretched on.

“Different?” Sasha offered.

Manny huffed a breath out of his nose, perhaps a laugh, perhaps a sign he’d given up on what he was trying to say, “Yeah, different. You’ve got your uniforms, you've got your families. I can’t explain it.” 

Sasha felt the corner of his lips twitch in a smile, though one he could see Manny no longer took comfort in. 

“Maybe there just weren’t any _good_ raiders here, huh?”

It’s what the Khans had all believed. The raiders here were nothing next to them. It’s what their scouts had come home to tell them, stories of honourless drunks roaming the streets, touting weapons and harassing women. Only three days of scouting had passed before Papa Khan declared that Vegas would be their next target, but not as a raid. A conquering, unlike anything the Khans had seen before. 

In less than a week, Papa Khan and his advisers announced their plan. Lead scout Swansea took charge of the first groups that entered Vegas. She knew better than anyone else how to steer an easy victory, a victory against those who were only in charge because they had all the guns.

The Khans didn’t need the best weapons, they never had. Everyone knew that the NCR, Jackals and Vipers were their distant cousins. Even when they were scrapping in the sand, the Khans came out on top. 

On the first day of battle, Regis predicted clear skies, a sign that things were in their favour. Clear skies came.

The Great Khans weren’t just good raiders, they were the best.

Manny smiled at Sasha, though it was a strange one, coupled with an unreadable look in his eyes. Something Sasha couldn’t place--like he was in on a joke that Sasha and Jessup were not.

“Yeah,” Manny said, eyes locked with Sasha’s like he was trying to read his thoughts, “Maybe there weren’t.”

With that, he started backing away, turning his back on Sasha and Jessup without a hint of hesitation or fear. Cocky--Sasha frowned. Manny waved to the group still crowding around the doorframe, then glanced over his shoulder at the pair.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”


End file.
